


Hss

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Creature Fic, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Oral Sex, Parseltongue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 10:22:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3064280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Goyle messes up a snakey potion and reaps the rewards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadySlytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadySlytherin/gifts).



> A/N: Happy Holidays, Sly! I took your HP slash, potions gone wrong, creature!fic, and Parseltongue prompts. This isn’t properly British.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Their attic’s a mess and none of their boxes are labeled, so Gregory pulls down five at a time and drags them into the bedroom so he can sit on the rug beneath the bed frame—far more comfortable than the rest of the hardwood floor of their upstairs—while he sorts through them. The first is just all books, which he doesn’t even understand why they’re keeping, the second is Herbology tools—equally useless; neither of them care for gardening—and the third is finally Potions’ supplies. This he digs through with an uncharacteristic care; the box is full of precariously-wrapped glass he’d rather not shatter all over his lap. 

He needs bottles. The ones in the kitchen Harry uses to hold protein shakes seemed good enough, but after five failed attempts, Gregory’s already used them all up, and he’s not about to wash them out until he figures out a safe way to dispose of... whatever he made instead of a Snake Call Potion. If he wants that job at the new ingredients shop down Knockturn, he’ll have to bring a fresh brew of it to his interview tomorrow. It seemed like a good place to apply just yesterday; Potions was, after all, the only class he did even remotely well in. But now he’s realizing that was probably because he was teamed up with Draco half the time, and whatever Harry might think of Gregory’s best friend, Draco’s a potions master. 

Gregory’s not. He fucked up, and he needs some new bottles, and he finds an old brass cauldron at the bottom of the box, but nothing he can use to respectably carry a potion sample in. 

He’s so busy digging around the bottom of the heavy box in his lap that he doesn’t hear any footsteps. One second he’s alone with his brooding thoughts, and the next, smooth hands are slipping over his shoulders, palms digging into his shirt to drag down his pecs. Gregory glances over his shoulder to give Harry an instinctive peck on the cheek. He’s home early. A few seconds after Gregory’s turned back to his box, he realizes just how _wrong_ that kiss was.

His head snaps back around, and he finds his gorgeous boyfriend smirking broadly at him, skin an almost sickly green. His usually-soft cheeks look hardened over, felt slick beneath Gregory’s lips, and when he really squints and stares, he can see the thin grooves between... scales. 

Harry’s newly-yellow, slit eyes unwaveringly watch Gregory’s reaction, his glasses gone. Maybe Gregory’s the one that needs glasses. Last he checked, his boyfriend didn’t have _scales_. Or yellow eyes. Or...

“You left a strange drink on the counter,” Harry hisses, his voice in that flickering, silky tone it gets when it’s verging on Parseltongue. Gregory can already feel his jaw unhinging, and suddenly, he’s transfixed; he couldn’t look away if he wanted to. Harry’s a Gryffindork through and through, but when that slithering dark side does pop up, it’s utterly _irresistible._ Harry chuckles and presses a slow, chaste peck to the top of Gregory’s cheekbone, then mutters, “Thanks.”

Gregory’s always been simple, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s happened. Harry mistook his potion for something else, and Gregory _fucked up._ It’s obvious the potion’s had wild, unexpected effects; when he picks one of Harry’s hands off his chest, it’s greenish and scaled like Harry’s face, the palm a lined, yellowy texture. It’s oddly cold in his hand, but their house is always warm, and the juxtaposition’s more exciting than anything. Anything related to Parseltongue has always been exciting to Gregory. And he’s always known Harry was out of his league; Harry’s always so enticing, but like this...

Gregory doesn’t get a chance to finish his thoughts. Harry’s suddenly scraping sharp teeth along his jaw, tongue lashing out to lave over his skin, and Gregory chokes out a groan. He wants to turn around and check how far down those scales really go. Instead, he sits still and waits to be lead around by his better half, like he always does. Harry pushes the box out of his lap; Gregory pays no attention to where it’s going. Harry slides nimble fingers through his hair, turns his head, and Gregory’s mouth falls open, pressing into Harry’s lips. Their teeth clash in the middle, and when Gregory pushes his tongue at Harry’s mouth, he feels things he isn’t used to—sharp, elongated teeth on either side: _fangs_. Gregory tries to moan, but Harry pushes it away. 

Harry slips so easily around him and pushes him back, shoving at his shoulders until he falls, lands back on the floor, staring up at his smiling minx. He mumbles, “That wasn’t a smoothie.”

Harry’s nose wrinkles with his grin. He says, “I know,” and, “I liked it,” and then something in pure, unadulterated Parseltongue that Gregory couldn’t hope to understand. The low, beautiful sound, mingled with the purse of Harry’s lips and the flicker of his tongue all drive Gregory wild. This is his greatest weakness. Harry slithers down his body and kneels between his legs, pushing them open; Gregory parts them more. He’s not even sure what he’s yearning for— _something_ —but he needs it now, and Harry’s chuckle is barely human. Harry whispers things to him, words he can’t imagine, but every one makes him fidget and squirm, while Harry’s hands trace over his belt and begin to unbuckle him. His pants are opened and pulled down his hips, his underwear following—the cold air hits his cock, springing out already hard. Harry’s hisses do that to him.

Gregory just barely manages to say, “We should probably go to St. Mungo’s.” Definitely. He has to force himself to say it, but he knows that something’s gone horribly wrong, and it could be dangerous, and he doesn’t want to have caused Harry any damage.

But Harry only murmurs, “Later; I know how much you love it when I speak Parseltongue to you, so surely you can’t mind seeing me this way...”

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Gregory grunts before he can stop himself. He doesn’t take it back. Harry looks pleased and flicks his tongue over the head of Gregory’s engorged cock. Gregory instantly sucks in a breath, twitching in anticipation. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Harry’s tongue was _forked_

Harry licks over him again, just as quick, but this time more rapid, another after it, and then he’s being lavished up and down, over and over, while Harry’s lips hover closer and start to slide up and down Gregory’s shaft while his tongue curls all the way around. Gregory bucks up, even though Harry’s always telling him not to, and Harry firmly shoves Gregory’s hips to the ground, pinning them in place. Harry, so much smaller than Gregory, always has such incredible strength. It’s impressive. It’s wonderful. Harry laves attention on Gregory’s bobbing cock until Gregory’s squirming back and forth and panting, muttering uselessly for Harry to talk to him again. Harry presses his lips against Gregory’s underside and spews a tangle of unintelligible words. Every time his adam’s able bobs, ever time his tongue darts out, every time he hisses out a new syllable, Gregory loses just a little bit more control. By the time Harry’s holding himself over Gregory’s mammoth cock, mouth open wide, Gregory’s nearly at the end of his rope. 

Then Harry shoves down, all at once, keeps going, swallows Gregory’s giant dick right to the base, and Gregory tosses wildly off the floor in a flood of ecstasy. He can feel Harry’s new fangs scraping and squeezing around his sides: an even tighter fit than usual. The small cavern of Harry’s throat is pure bliss. Harry doesn’t waste any time, just sucks right away, pulls half off and shoves back on. He works into his own quick rhythm, suckling on Gregory’s cock on every thrust, fucking his own face on Gregory’s crotch, and Gregory finally breaks and shoves his hands into Harry’s silky hair, trying desperately to hold him down. Harry doesn’t at all seem to mind. He takes Gregory’s cock over and over, and just when Gregory’s balls are tightening and he couldn’t take a second more, Harry shoves his way off and snarls a long hiss. Somehow, Gregory _knows_ what it is—he’s being ordered to come.

He explodes right onto Harry’s face, roaring and arching off the floor, while Harry closes his eyes and takes the facial with more beauty than anything Gregory deserves. Watching Harry’s cheeks and lips drip with his release milks everything out of him, every last drop. It’s probably the fastest he’s ever come from a blowjob alone, but it’s also the first time Harry’s surprised him with Parseltongue without some subtle snake designs to trigger it.

It takes Gregory a second to recover from his orgasm. He feels satiated, heavy, but his cock doesn’t flag like it should; not with a cum-soaked, snake version of Harry licking Gregory’s seed away. It takes Gregory several seconds to grunt, “Now St. Mungo’s.”

But Harry just smirks. He extends to his feet with more grace than Gregory will ever have, and he pulls Gregory up by the arm, and he practically slithers towards the bed. He hisses, “Now _me._ ”


End file.
